My own journey by Adamtotts

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I’ve always been captivated by the allure of extremely short hair on men—even before I really understood why. I can still remember those early days: watching older men or peers with daringly cropped styles and feeling both awe and envy deep within me. Growing up with conservative parents, my only exposure was the safe, predictable high and tight cuts at Brandon’s barber. There, my hair was usually kept longer on top with a respectful number 2 or 3 on the sides, except for the occasional v-cut in high school that hinted at something bolder.

By my early teens, the appeal of minimalist, almost sculptural haircuts had taken root in my heart. Every time I saw a man with his hair shaved down to the skin or even shorter than mine, I longed to be that canvas of boldness. I began asking for shorter styles whenever the barber teased about another trim, testing the boundaries of what was acceptable. The secret thrill of defying expectations—of inching closer to the daring look I admired—was intoxicating.

In college, when no one recognized me, I took even greater risks. I began requesting haircuts that plunged me into near-bald territory. Yet, despite every trim, buzz, and shave, I never felt completely satisfied with my reflection. There was always a piece of me that yearned for something more profound, something transformational.

That longing intensified when I started working at a hotel pub at 19. The dim lights and murmur of the bar provided me with an escape, and my online dating profile became an outlet for my hidden desires. For years I navigated the shallow waters of brief encounters without truly being seen—until I met David.

David wasn’t what I expected. At 55, he carried the confidence of a man who had lived many full, richly detailed lives. Our meeting was spontaneous and secretive. I remember that night vividly: I had played a small act, telling my parents I was off for an early breakfast shift so I could muster the courage for a mid-shift escape to the hotel. Once the clock struck 9:30 pm, I found myself in a quiet, free hotel room—courtesy of my work—and a door opened to reveal David in all his reality.

There he stood: a striking man with a beautifully bald head and a smile that was as mischievous as it was kind. I had seen a few explicit pictures before our date, and the thrill of witnessing his smooth, luminous scalp in person sent a shiver down my spine. His unapologetic confidence, accrued from years of life’s trials and triumphs, was magnetic. While we slipped into conversation, he asked a question that struck me at the core: "If you love bald heads so much, why aren’t you bald?"

That question dangled in the air like a challenge—a dare to embrace who I truly was. I had always secretly craved the look, even envied the stark beauty of a shiny scalp. Before I knew it, David produced a travel grooming kit from his bag. His tone shifted; an intensity and seriousness took over that left me equal parts apprehensive and exhilarated. With my heart pounding, I allowed him to take the razor in hand. I watched as he applied shaving gel with precision, his every movement a lesson in mastery and care.

In the quiet intimacy of that room, with the hum of the world beyond its walls, he shaved my head completely bald. I remember the sound of the razor, the cool touch of the gel, and my own trembling excitement as I watched locks of hair fall away, baring my head to a new possibility. I even filled the sink, almost offering a silent tribute to this profound act of transformation.

After the last hair was swept away, David gathered his small case and travel bag. With a gentle but firm closeness, he said, "Come with me if you want a bald life." In that moment, I understood that this wasn’t just about a hairstyle. It was about shedding the old, conservative layers and finally embracing the fearless self that had long been yearning for expression.

That night, with David’s guiding hand and my newly minted smooth scalp gleaming in the dim hotel light, I stepped into a future where I wasn’t just admiring the look of men with extremely short hair—I was living it. It was a rebirth, a bold claim to the identity I had craved since those early days of secret envy. And I knew, as I looked at my reflection and saw David’s approving smile in the mirror, that I was finally free to be my truest self.

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